


Hope You Love Your Life

by OctarinePegacorn



Category: Jack Off Jill
Genre: Arachnid, Eldritch Abomination, Fridge Horror, Horror, M/M, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Sacrifice, Witch Burning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctarinePegacorn/pseuds/OctarinePegacorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your boyfriend and you are chosen to be sacrificed to the Cinnamon Spider, your village's deity. The sacrifice of two villagers happens every five years and it's the only way to ensure the Cinnamon Spider gives up some of her precious cinnamon, the only export the other villages want from yours. What happens when your boyfriend tries to defy tradition?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope You Love Your Life

You thought of every story you had ever read that dealt with an event like this. Suzanne Collins’s trilogy. Shirley Jackson’s short story. The Ancient Greeks’ myth. Now it was your turn to know how a Tribute felt, only this time there was no spark of hope.

“No St. George is here to save us from the vile dragon,” you muttered. Someone in the crowd shushed you. 

[The witch, will burn/When she’s, thrown into the fire/Not her, she’ll peel and writhe/But never expire]

A lot of villages just burnt their best magician every year. They called them a variety of names; wise men, crones, Devil’s servants. But most of the villages called them witches. And you suffered the misfortune, or honor, of viewing a witch burning. 

That was a euphemism for “human sacrifice”.  
***  
The girl had been drained of blood to make her weak. She didn’t resist as her father and brother threw her into the bonfire in the center of the town. It wasn’t until then that she scrambled up to her feet, which were bound, and started to frantically claw at her flesh, which was peeling off.

As she attempted to crawl out of the blaze, an old woman chuckled and beat her back into the inferno with a stick. The girl screamed as she fell backward. The woman threw the stick on top of her and clapped her hands a few times.

A younger woman was holding the hand of a toddler, who was roasting a marshmallow on a stick to the left of the fallen witch. Behind them were more little kids, playing “Ring-a-Round-the-Rosy”. 

“What are they going to do with her blood?” you asked. Your voice sounded almost as hollow as you felt. You didn’t want to be here, but your village required you to travel to this large mining town to peddle cinnamon. Even people who were staying at the inn had to come out and watch an event celebrated to insure a good harvest every year. You counted yourself lucky that your village only sacrificed two people every five years unlike these poor folks who lived atop rocky soil. 

“Probably feed it to her child,” answered a boy next to you. That answer made you feel queasy.

“’Her child’? But she looks so young.”

“Don’t worry. Her daughter’s just a baby. She won’t remember her mama. They picked out the sacrifice twenty months beforehand. Every man who wanted a witch to bear his child entered himself into a lottery. Once his name is picked out, they coupled and nine months later the baby came via a completely natural, drug-free delivery. It’s always the same. Now they’ll fill her bottle with her mother’s blood and that’s the last she’ll ever see of anything of her mama’s. Look, they’re already throwing the poor girl’s possessions into the bonfire.”

“I feel sick,” you whispered. You turned to head back to the inn but the boy caught your hand in his and pulled you back.

“Stay. It’s forbidden… taboo, to leave during the Burning.”

So you stayed with him until the town’s lanterns were lit. By then they the fire was down to a few embers and everyone started to leave. To your surprise, the boy followed you back to the inn.

You two were the only ones in the lobby. He steered you into a corner and placed both hands on either side of you.

“It’s a chilly autumn night. Do you need someone to help warm your bed tonight?”

“W-what!?” you sputtered. He tilted his head and stared at you. To anyone else he would have looked bored, but his eyes were anything but dull. “What-?”

“’…makes you think I like guys?’” he mimicked, in perfect time with you. You stopped speaking, but he carried on, looking more amused now. “’And even if I did, why would I want you?’

“Because I know you think I’m cute,” he answered, “even if no one else would look twice at me.”

“You’re not unattractive,” you murmured, defensively. “It’s just your personality that turns people away.”

And that’s how you became a boyfriend for the first and last time.

[She crawls, on webs, of lies/I died up inside her/To take, what’s mine/That b*tch, the cinnamon spider]

You couldn’t say you were entirely surprised when your names were called out. They used to have a lottery, but that wasn’t convenient, especially for such a small town. Besides, men were much more expendable than the ladies.

After being fitted for bracelets which had the year engraved on them, you two were led away to the village’s inn, which, unlike the inn of your boyfriend’s original village, also doubled as the jail. Your footsteps echoed off the walls and your boyfriend whistled “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” until you squeezed his hand hard enough.

There were bunk beds, but you chose to sleep to in the same bed, regardless of the narrowness.

“I don’t,” began your mancandy, “want to die without knowing the warm touch of a man on my-”

“I biblically sense you should shut up and let me sleep.”

You felt him press his lips to the back of your neck and smirk.

“Goodnight, sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”  
***  
The next day, as you were led into the woods, you overheard two ladies discussing your fate.  
“Well, it’s not like they can extend their family lines, anyw-”

“TURKEY BASTERS!”  
***  
You were lead deep into the woods and by a village official who took you told you and your boyfriend to find your own way into the Spider’s lair. 

“The itsy bitsy spider came up the water spout~”

“But how will we know which direction-?”

“Down came the rain that washed the spider out~”

“All paths lead to Her web,” the official cut you off. He turned to glare at your lover. “I suggest you don’t stray from the path, unless you want to die from exposure. That might… upset Her.”

You knew better than to stray and so did your boyfriend. If the Cinnamon Spider didn’t get Her two sacrifices every five years, then that meant She wouldn’t allow the village excess to Her cinnamon grove.

The cinnamon was your village’s only valuable export. The other villages had more than enough potatoes, eggplants, and similar vegetables, but the spice was obscenely valuable. Without cinnamon, the village wouldn’t be able to prosper.

No one had ever tried to steal Her cinnamon. They knew better than to attempt anything that might displease Her. The other villages didn’t question your village’s sacrificial methods. Two people every five years was pretty economic. 

_I wonder how the other villages would react if we told them that our local deity lives just a day away from us, not a lifetime…_

Your boyfriend was the first one to notice the webs. Little gossamer strands, blowing gently in the autumn breeze. They looked like they were made by average sized arachnids, but who knew? There were no spiders in your village, but you had seen them in other villages. Having lived in the Cinnamon Village (as outsiders called it), paranoia overcame you, even when traveling. You found you were unable to kill them or even get too close.

“But we’ll know when we’re near because She smells like cinna-”

The scent of cinnamon hit your nostrils. It would have been pleasant, if it didn’t make you think of death. You turned to your lover.

“Oh my God,” he mouthed. You raised your eyebrow and turned to see what he was staring at.

It looked like the naked husk of a human being. She (the hips were a dead giveaway) was lying on her stomach and the gnarled fingers of her right hand were clasped around a bloodsoaked sword, whose blade was skewed right.

_Like it had hit something hard enough to bend it out of shape._

“[name],” said your paramour, kneeling and holding up the stiff wrist of the corpse. “The year… She was one of the last sacrifices.”

“It looks like the Spider didn’t finish with her. Like… She doesn’t look _completely_ drained.” 

He nodded. “Her body’s too well preserved, too. There’s almost like this film around her skin. But something happened to her that ate away some of her skin, or at least the flesh on her lower body.” 

He gingerly grabbed her hair and lifted her head up. “The noggin’s still pretty much in tack… The film’s dried. Her body’s wrinkly, like she spent too much time soaking in the tub.”

“But it looks like she was bathed in acid or something too,” you finished. He gently dropped her head and stood up, but not before wiping his hands on the grass.

“I know that’s disrespectful,” he said whilst grimacing, “but _ew_.”

[I won’t try/And every time I tell that lie/I live without guilt/And I won’t cry/And I hope you love your life/And live with your guilt]

Both of you had been walking along the path for a few minutes when he just couldn’t take it anymore.”

“I hate Her,” your boyfriend. “I hate Her for doing this to your village. _Our_ village.”

“Really?” you responded. “I love Her. I love Her for demanding sacrifices every five years.”

He grinned, but his eyes still looked angry. “Five years is probably like five minutes, at most, for an immortal abomination like the Spider. I hope She’s enjoyed terrorizing the Cinnamon Village, because her reign of terror is going to come to an end.”

“And what do you propose to do about it?”

“Slay her.”

“Too bad swords probably won’t work.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. He took your hand in his again and squeezed. You gently squeezed back.  
***  
Eventually you came upon a cave, which seemed to lead down deep into the earth. You knew that Her cinnamon tree grove must be nearby because you couldn’t even smell your own breath, the scent was so powerful. And it was beginning to give you a headache. 

Your boyfriend wrapped his arm around yours protectively. Both of you knew better than to talk now. Neither of you knew what she looked like or what she was capable of. For all you knew, she could be lying in wait on the ceiling, ready to drop down and drain you of every last drop of blood. 

“Hello?” someone called out.

Startled, you tried to jump back but your boyfriend made you stand your ground. Slowly, both of you made your way towards the voice.

The descent into the cave was dark. But you came upon a lit torch every now and again. Eventually both of you saw sunlight pouring into what was like a small circular chamber inside the cave.

“Hello?”

There was a naked girl sitting down, arms chained to the wall. There must have been a crack in the ceiling, because a sliver of sunlight was hitting her. As soon as she saw you her eyes widened and she crossed her legs so you couldn’t see anything. 

_Poor girl._

She looked fairly clean, except for the occasional cinnamon smudge. But what caught your attention the most was her bloated stomach. The girl must have been pregnant, because her limbs were fairly slender.

[Consumed, by hate, and guilt/She’ll never retire/Too old, to fix/Too dead, to ever acquire/Slit wrists, tough sh*t/But she, will never inspire/A plan, to save, herself/The cinnamon spider]

Your boyfriend was able to determine the metal of the handcuffs. You talked to the girl about her predicament while your boyfriend went outside to find some wood. The concern must have been clearly visible on your face because the Spider’s prisoner softened her expression.

“I’m just afraid She’ll see the smoke,” you confessed. It was her turn to nod sympathetically.

“Don’t worry. The Cinnamon Spider is preoccupied...”

It was hard to keep your gaze from slipping to her round stomach and she noticed that. 

“Wait, you’re not pregnant, are you?” you whispered. _Spiders aren’t usually hermaphrodites, right?_  
***  
She told you that the Cinnamon Spider fed her according to the Cinnamon Spider’s convenience, not the Cinnamon Spider’s preference. In the past day or so, the Cinnamon Spider had been force-feeding her mostly crickets, worms, and lightning bugs.

_Presumably to fatten her up_ , you thought bitterly. _Harvesting cinnamon must need a lot of energy._

“The Cinnamon Spider brings berries and nuts as well. When the Cinnamon Spider can find them, the Cinnamon Spider brings the corpses of squirrels, rabbits… sometimes deer. The warm-blooded of the forest made a pact with the Cinnamon Spider, so the Cinnamon Spider doesn’t request them alive.”

It was strange how she always said “the Cinnamon Spider” instead of just “the Spider” or “She”. You assumed that the Spider had conditioned her to speak of Her that way.  
***  
When your boyfriend came back, you felt like engulfing him in your arms but you weren’t one for displays of affection in front of an audience. You felt relieved not only because he was safe but because the Cinnamon Girl (you started thinking of her as that and you had trouble stopping) was beginning to bother you a little.

_There’s no way someone’s stomach can just bloat like that and the calories don’t travel to other parts of their body… right?_  
***  
The story she told you was sort of tedious, but probably necessary.

All her friend did was insult Her and the Spider eventually grew angry and just grabbed the other sacrifice, swallowed her whole, feet first. But soon the arachnid was spitting out blood and then she had to regurgitate. 

“The other sacrifice brought a knife with her.”

You couldn’t tell if she was happy or sad about that. The Cinnamon Spider was your local deity. Many people in the village worshipped Her regularly and woe to anyone who suggested that the sacrifices were anything less than the perfect way of showing devotion in front of them.

“She ran off,” continued the prisoner, “promising to ‘return with help’. The Cinnamon Spider followed her.”

_I guess she’s not one for conversations. But I probably wouldn’t be if I’d been chained up for five years._

Your eyes nonchalantly drifted towards her wrists. There was dried blood caked on the cuffs. Because you weren’t an expert on blood, you couldn’t tell when it had dried.

[I won’t try/And every time I tell that lie/I live without guilt/And I won’t cry/And I hope you love your life/And live with your guilt]

“The Cinnamon Spider hates lying, you know.”

You looked up. 

“Uh, well, I probably won’t lie to her if I meet her, so-”

“That doesn’t matter.” She lowered her head. “You already lied…”

“Well, everyone lies at least once, right?” you tried to reason. She tilted her head and then answered “The Cinnamon Spider hears e-”

[Bite heads, off those, who fail/And try to imply her/Forlorn, despised/I am, the cinnamon spider]

“I’m back!” 

The melting took a little while, because he was afraid of having the hot metal drip on the girl. He handed you the torch and helped her stand up. She looked down at her wrists, which the handcuffs were still attached to. The chains were still too long and they looked like hazardous bracelets.

“Okay,” started your boyfriend, “let’s-”

The Cinnamon Girl wrapped her arms around him. He looked uncomfortable and watched you for a reaction. You shrugged. Your boyfriend was hotter than you, or so you thought. And living with no one but an overgrown arachnid for half a decade would probably make anyone a little starved for human companionship.

But things started to go downhill once she pressed her lips to his. You wouldn’t have minded if she had been a guy, but a naked girl kissing your boyfriend just didn’t sit well with you. When you realized that (emphasis on the) your wide-eyed boytoy had some liquid dripping down his chin, you knew that it was venom even before she apparently vomited it into his mouth.

She widened her mouth and her fangs grew out, jutting from both the top and bottom of her mouth. You closed your eyes as soon as you saw a spider-like leg pop out from her back. As soon as you opened them, you bit down on your tongue. The girl now had four extra legs, which appeared to be growing armor-like exoskeleton. She was using two of them plus her human arms to hold your lover steady as she wrapped him up in her silk.

“You didn’t expect the Cinnamon Spider to stay in the same body forever and not age, [name]?”

_Someone told Her. Someone told Her my name. I want to think of Her as a “her” or even just an “It”, but I can’t._

“The Cinnamon Spider’s body withers away into nothing when the Cinnamon Spider possesses someone new.”

_That’s a relief. It’s not like I wanted to come across a decaying, giant arachnid corpse…_

“You lied.”

“Hasn’t everyone at least once?” you repeated.

“You didn’t just lie, you lied to your mate. In the forest of the Cinnamon Spider. You don’t love the Cinnamon Spider-”

_Really? I love Her. I love Her for demanding sacrifices every five years._

“-and you don’t worship the Cinnamon Spider, like you should.” 

She clacked her fangs together angrily as you said “That was sarcasm.”

“Sar-kaz-em?” she tried out. The fangs stopped clacking. “How something is said isn’t important, it’s what you say that matters to the Cinnamon Spider.”

_She can’t understand jokes. Does she even have a sense of humor? Is she warm- or cold-blooded? I can’t tell if she’s a mammal or not._

“Do you think the Cinnamon Spider’s hypocritical?” The irritating clacking again. “Omitting information isn’t a sin.”

She knew people too well. And you couldn’t really blame her for saying that. She hadn’t actually lied and you should have been on your guard. But then you remembered one little detail and what was left of your calm almost came crashing down.

“Wait, your stomach. Why-?”

“’-is it so bloated?’” she mimicked, in perfect time to you. “Because the Cinnamon Spider actually is pregnant. You just chose to interpret the Cinnamon Spider’s tale the wrong way.”

You felt numb. _Is this a punishment? Am I being punished by some cruel deity for committing a sin in some past life I can’t even remember? How could our village-?_

“Whose body are you going to steal?”

She didn’t answer verbally. Instead, She just grew until her mouth was large enough. And then she hovered over your poisoned boyfriend’s head, dripping more venom unto him. It reminded you vaguely of that one tale about that trickster god and his serpentine punishment. But literary references weren’t going to help you now.

You turned away from her and started to run out of the cave. As you turned a corner, you heard crunching. 

[I won’t try/And every time I tell that lie/I live without guilt/And I won’t cry/And I hope you love your life/And live with your guilt/And I am fine/And I’ll learn to take what’s mine/And live without guilt/Oh yeah]

Your legs had started to ache quite a while ago but now they were actually beginning to give out. You collapsed and looked around. Now you were finally in Her cinnamon grove. The scent was making you feel sick in your stomach.  
 _Crunch._

There were so many unanswered questions. When did this start? What kind of creature was She? Who or what had impregnated Her? Why did She leave that sacrifice’s corpse out? And how would you escape? Could you even escape? Even if you did, what about your boyfriend?

The only way to avoid becoming completely lost was to return to one of the paths, but…

_All paths lead to Her web._

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for the witch burning from the "Organ Grinders" episode of _Grimm_.


End file.
